Could End in Burning Flames or Paradise
by NeoNails
Summary: Or 5 Times Caitlin Had Sex with Barry & the 1 Time It Meant Something. "She didn't know what series of events culminated in Barry's mood that night, but she did know it began with him pulling the bottle out of her hand and taking a long swig for himself."
1. Watch Us Go 'Round & 'Round Each Time

Heyyyyyyyyy... been a while, y'all. I doubt many of you know me in the _Flash_ fandom, but I've been around for a while. Kind of lost my inspiration for the last year. I'm sort of getting it back, I think? My style is changing again, that much I know. It's been too long since I've written anything appropriately (HA!) dirty, so I'm still stretching my muscles.

I don't know you'll feel about this... I like it, I think? I have the next one and a quarter done, but I'm going to try and pace myself. I'm still getting into Caitlin's headspace. She's got a lot of potential as a character (both in the show and the comics), and at the moment I like her a little more than Barry and Iris' _totally_-not-brother-and-sister romance.

So. Here we go. See what you think.

$4$

_I should just tell you to leave 'cuz I  
>Know exactly where it leads but I<br>Watch us go 'round and 'round each time_

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><p><strong>1.<strong>

That night might have been the worst decision she'd ever made.

Like most bad decisions, it began on the bad side of 2 a.m. after imbibing well over the recommended dose of tequila.

Barry had a baffling habit of finding her when she was at her lowest point, and that night was no different. It was a tad annoying, but given how lonely she'd felt as of late, appreciated. Normally she was more composed than this, she didn't bring alcohol into the equation, but that night she had been weak. Weaker than usual.

And she had that high-quality bottle of tequila, the one that Ronnie had given her a few weeks before he officially proposed to her. He promised they would make use of it on their honeymoon. Of course, that never came to be.

She knew Barry's life wasn't all sunshine and roses, either. He had mentioned his parents, and she knew about the best friend he was mooning over, and she saw the way he was treated at work. She knew the cards he'd been dealt hadn't been much better than her own, but Barry was so much better at deflecting pain than she was, both literally and figuratively.

She didn't know what series of events culminated in Barry's mood that night, but she did know it began with him pulling the bottle out of her hand and taking a long swig for himself.

It only went downhill from there.

Barry's powers made him metabolize alcohol at well over twice the rate of a normal person, but he could still get the initial buzz. He wound up drinking most of the bottle for her, which was probably for the best in the long run. He would get a little tipsy, she would get a little tipsy, and they would both go home, no harm done.

They only managed to accomplish the first two parts.

She couldn't remember what they discussed that night, swapping the bottle of Patrón back and forth until her brain was too muddled and just muddled enough. What she did remember was him saying something, something caring and hopeful and _earnest_ and in that moment all she could think about was just how _dumb_ that best friend of his was.

They had been sitting shoulder to shoulder in their swivel chairs, so it hadn't taken much to lean over. And she did remember that—she remembered being the one to make the move, to make that stupid, _stupid_ move that forever altered the state of their relationship.

She expected him to push her away. She wasn't the woman he'd been pining over, she was the one that cleaned up his bruises and occasionally cried into her wine after a bad night. sexy, or gentle, or perfect, or any of the other descriptors that could be used on his girl.

That didn't seem to bother him. He only hesitated for a moment, barely a second, and then his hands were in her hair and he was tilting her head to the exact angle so he could most effectively kiss her back.

_Oh_, and kiss he did. Her brain was muzzy with tequila, thoughts tied up and knotted twice but muscle memory was working just fine. She _missed_ this, she missed the skin-to-skin contact, feeling another person react and respond specifically to her touch. Barry's lips slotted along hers, hands twisting the strands and creating tingles from her scalp down to the base of her spine. She remembered what a good kiss felt like, and this wasn't far from it.

She was drunk and needy, and he was kissing her back, so was it really all that surprising that she decided to throw caution and reason to the wind and said fuck it?

Caitlin didn't remember much of the in between, but she remembered his hands, big and long-fingered, sliding over her hips as she deposited herself in his lap. She remembered tracing the lines of his throat, cataloguing all the muscles and ligaments in her mind as he let out a noise that was delightfully close to a whimper.

Caitlin definitely remembered snapping at him to get his wallet, and the dark eyed, almost devious smirk he sent her way. She didn't know if he used his powers to get out the foil packet, and she didn't care, because then he was pushing aside her underwear—sensible cotton, always sensible these days—and testing her slickness. He needn't have bothered, because she was already embarrassingly turned on by that point.

_Oh_, but was definitely using his powers then, and she did _not_ care.

Slinging an arm around his shoulders, she dropped her forehead to his chest and cursed. Her thighs were shaking, her thin sweater was sticking to her skin, and she could _feel_ Barry's smirk every time he kissed her cheek, her chin, her neck… but none of it mattered, so long as she continued to feel this good.

He added pressure, and on an average day she could name the exact nerve endings and muscles being contracted, but _holy shit_ she could barely remember her own name. His free hands was stroking her back, encouraging her jerky movements. She was _so close_, but she wasn't giving in just yet.

It had taken some fumbling, particularly with the condom, and Barry seemed to be doing his best to distract her, but after a minute it was finally on and there was no going back. Not that there was any going back before.

"Barry," Caitlin whispered, and she was gratified to see that he looked as desperate as she felt in that moment. Her whole body was shaking, shivering, but she couldn't tell if that was her doing or his. She definitely shook when he removed his fingers, but she _gasped_ when he replaced that emptiness with himself.

The troubling part was that this was _natural_, even though the setting and situation were anything but. They were fully clothed, half buzzed on tequila and each other, and yet she could already feel her orgasm bearing down on her like a freight train. S.T.A.R. Labs could have fallen down around them and she wasn't sure she'd be able to stop.

He was chanting her name, so quietly and quickly that she could barely make out the syllables. He was just as close as she was and they'd barely even moved.

Or they _were_ moving, but slowly, rhythmically, perfectly in sync. She was sitting in the lap of the fastest man alive, and they were moving at the slowest pace possible. And it honestly couldn't feel any better.

Caitlin's skirt was bunched around her waist, so every time his hands dug into her hips, she could feel his skin burning hot against her own. Their rhythm, despite the lack of speed, had her panting, muscles already aching.

Barry's brow was furrowed, eyes locked with hers. She couldn't look away, either. She was fairly certain this was the most powerful drunken one-night stand she would ever experience in her life.

…She should've known hyperbole was only going to bite her on the ass later.

She wasn't able to think much longer, because Barry's thumb had slid between their joined bodies. She had the presence of mind to drag his head forward and cover her mouth with his, because the sound that came from the base of her throat when his powers kicked in was not meant for human ears.

She wasn't sure how much longer he lasted, but it couldn't have been long, because he was done and still panting by the time she pulled her face from his neck. Not that she remembered putting it there in the first place…

They remained breathless and euphoric just long enough to realize what had been done. That was the first time she'd had sex since Ronnie's death. And it was in S.T.A.R. Labs, while drunk, with a superhero she had barely known for a year.

He might have been the fastest man alive, but she never moved quicker than when she got the fuck out of there. Her thighs were still sticky and she was pretty sure she wasn't safe to drive, but she knew she couldn't take another second of staring into his dark, emotional eyes without breaking forever.

In that moment, she had ruined the only good thing left in her life: her job. She had just screwed their hero/experiment, and there was _no_ way Dr. Wells or Cisco would ever let that slide.

She was _fucked_.


	2. Been a While Since I've Heard from You

Thanks, everyone, for the great feedback! Someone was nice enough to point out some of my previous work-namely, with _Sky High_-and I realized I forgot to mention that the last time. Danielle Panabaker (Caitlin) was in _Sky High_, as a superhero with powers and personality kind of in the complete opposite of Caitlin's skills. I didn't intend it this way, but it kind of worked out neatly that way, and it's working out as an interesting character study in different personalities.

$4$

_Fade into view, oh,  
>It's been a while since I have even heard from you<br>Heard from you_

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><p><strong>2.<strong>

Everything was fine for a month and a half.

…Maybe _fine_ was too strong of a word. But she still had a job, she still had her lab, and it appeared as though everything appeared normal. Which was really just an attractive facsimile of the truth, but so long as no one noticed they were _fine_.

Caitlin gave Barry a wide berth, and he did much of the same for her, but given that they weren't really hanging out to begin with _before_, no one seemed to sense the difference. Which was for the best, really.

But that didn't mean everything was back to normal. Sure, Barry still seemed quite content to moon over his best friend, but there had been several times where she caught him staring at her with that familiar darkness in his eyes that did strange things to her insides. It was a stare that took her breath away every time.

She wasn't even going to _consider_ her own problems, like her recent dreams that started with Ronnie and ended with Barry in the dirtiest ways possible. Her subconscious was full of shit, anyway.

Life might have continued on uneventfully—well, for the most part—had Barry not been so damned _bullheaded_. She never used to spend so much time _arguing_ with someone until Barry. She and Ronnie had disagreed and debated before, but it was always civil and resolved quickly.

Meanwhile, when she and Barry argued, she wanted to throw things at his head and scream her frustrations into a pillow. She was pretty good at only following through with that last part.

It wouldn't be as teeth-grindingly frustrating if he ever took the time to _listen_ to her. But of course he couldn't do that, because he was always rushing off to danger before she could finish a sentence.

Cisco and Dr. Wells had already gone home, so she had foolishly thought she could be left to her own devices in the lab. She hated the damned place half the time, but not nearly as much as she hated her own apartment. Here, she could embrace the silence, without it ever feeling oppressive.

Of course, Barry, the asshat, had decided to drop off his costume and commlink. Which, of course, led to more shouting. Lots more shouting.

"You're just so damned _frustrating_ to be around!" she snarled, her jaw clenched to the point of pain. Her fingers were fisted at her sides, and she was seriously considering decking him.

"That's because you refuse to listen to me," he growled. For a heartbeat, he almost looked intimidating, but this was Barry. He couldn't _do_ intimidating.

She could have walked away at that point. She _should_ have walked away.

But she didn't.

She grabbed him by the collar of his stupid sweater vest and yanked. As with before, he went with it. Wholeheartedly. His arm looped around her back, hauling her up against his lithe frame while he cradled her head and expertly deepened the kiss.

It was a dangerous sign that he was already so used to kissing her back, but she really _was_ frustrated and he was willing.

She pushed him back, both stumbling until he hit the edge of one desk. His teeth caught the corner of her lip in retribution, but it was such a quick sting followed by the swipe of his tongue that she wasn't sure it even happened.

The desk was low enough that she could get him to sit back on it, and she was following right behind, straddling his narrow hips. Her knees dug into the cold metal, and she was sure she'd have fresh bruises on her knees, but she didn't mind if it meant she could take the edge off.

He let her push him around, but that was doubtlessly only because he was already hiking up her skirt. She broke off, just long enough to suck in a shaky lungful of air, but by that point Barry was distracted and burying his face in her neck.

The scrape of his teeth along her throat had her whimpering, clutching the back of his skull and tugging on his hair. That didn't deter him any, as he traced her collarbone with his tongue and followed it with another graze.

She couldn't recall ever getting quite so wound up so quickly, but Barry didn't have a problem taking it in stride. She was so engrossed with all the wonderful things he was doing to her neck that she didn't notice him pushing her underwear to the side.

Thank god she didn't put on pants today.

The noise that came out of her mouth was akin to a shaky moan, and as much as she still wanted to shout at him, she didn't think she could ever stay mad, not so long as he kept doing _that_ with his fingers.

"Barry," she whimpered, his name falling from her lips in broken syllables. "Condom. Now."

He nudged some of her hair away from her throat with his nose. "I wasn't paying close attention last time," he replied, and then he stroked with his thumb while he twisted his fingers and she damned near came out of her skin. His rhythm was maddening; precise, but patient.

She didn't _want_ patient. She'd just jumped him on the lab table—she wanted him to fuck her brains out, not take his _time_. This was _sex_, for God's sake.

Her hand fell onto his lap, and she was grateful to feel his hips jerk unconsciously, but she wasn't sure was coordinated enough to work the zipper. He chuckled at her lackluster attempt, and she tried to pretend as though that gravelly sound didn't wind her up even further.

"Shut _up_," she attempted to snap, but the words had no menace to them when she was _this close_ to coming.

He titled his head back, examining her expression with a kind of scientific curiosity, which she definitely should _not_ have found attractive. She supposed she could've looked away, but the challenge was too hard to ignore. She always loved a challenge.

"You have to be close, too," she wheedled, her breath catching on the word _close_, as he switched tempo ever so slightly.

One corner of his mouth tilted in a wicked grin, and she wasn't sure if it was his fingers, or that _look_ that had her breath hitching. "I'm okay with waiting," he answered, changing the angle and—

She might have gasped, but she wasn't sure. She didn't really recall making any sound, but she did know that he watched her expression the entire time, his brow furrowing and eyes darkening further when her mouth fell open in a—soundless?—cry. He looked proud of himself, which was vaguely annoying but she was in no real condition to argue at this point.

Caitlin had sort of sagged into his lap at that point, but he didn't appear to be in any mood to move her. Which was good, because she wasn't in much of a mood to move, either.

She struggled a little with his zipper, but she got there eventually. He caught her wrist with his free hand just before she could do much more.

"Haven't done that since middle school," he muttered, and she noticed a blush high on his cheeks. His thumb was rubbing careful circles onto her hand, rhythmic and soothing, and it was only then that she noticed the damp spot on his boxers.

_Oh_.

There wasn't much to say after that.


	3. I Said, I Been There a Few Times

It took a little longer to get this one out, but it also wound up being twice as long as the last two, so I guess that's a fair trade?

I also wanted to have more of the fourth chapter done, so the upside is that I should have the next up in much less time. Yay!

Anyway, I really appreciate all the great feedback and comments you guys have been sending my way. It's great to see that kind of supportive response from a still fledgling fandom. :D It's also great to see some familiar faces are still reading my work, too! You guys all rock.

Anyway, I hope you guys like this new chapter!

$4$

_He says, "What you heard is true but I  
>Can't stop thinking about you tonight."<br>I said, "I been there too a few times."_

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><p><strong>3.<strong>

The next time, it only happened because of Dr. Wells.

Indirectly, of course. He was trying to build S.T.A.R. Labs' reputation back up again, even though she thought it was a bit of a lost cause at this point. Caitlin wouldn't say that to him, so she put on her nicest cocktail dress and heels and went along with it.

It took less time to go back to pretending things were normal with Barry this time, and she couldn't tell if that was a good or bad sign. She was fairly certain he wanted to talk about it this time, but didn't know how to bring it up without risking upsetting her.

Which was good, because she didn't want him to bring it up.

Apparently, Barry's only suit was the tux from his prom, so he went with Cisco to find something appropriate, which got them both out of her hair for the day at least. When they came back, though, she almost wished he had stuck with the old tux, because seeing him in an actual fitted suit was doing funny things to her head. And lower parts, too.

He wasn't fairing much better at least, if that dark stare he sent her way when she first walked in was anything to go by. She had to repress a smug smile so no one would notice.

Luckily, Barry's best friend, Iris, was in attendance, along with her—his? Their?—dad and that generically handsome boyfriend whose name Caitlin kept forgetting. It didn't help that Cisco kept referring to him as Police Officer Ken at the lab. She couldn't deny that was an accurate nickname as far as Cisco's creativity was concerned.

Iris truly was a stunning young woman, and Caitlin could see why Barry was so taken with her. Even when she was at her best, before she became angry and broken, she never had that kind of inner light, that confidence. Now, of course, was too late for her.

Watching Iris light up a room wasn't easy, but she was too old and far too experienced to let it get to her beyond the initial sting. She couldn't control it, and she wasn't going to try.

Barry kept glancing at Police Officer Ken—_Eddie_—and she could practically see the self-doubt reflected in his eyes. Eddie was kind of a hard person to compete with on paper, but Barry was fortunate enough to more than just that in reality, though.

Taking pity on her superhero sadsack—and _no_, she didn't mean that in the possessive sense—she stayed a little closer to him than what might be considered socially acceptable.

He didn't outwardly acknowledge her decision, but he didn't seem to mind, either. Every time Iris adjusted Police Officer—_Eddie's_—tie, or he pressed a kiss to her cheek, Caitlin could feel Barry lingering close to her side, the fabric of his suit brushing against the bare skin of her back and wreaking havoc on her nervous system.

The night might have been otherwise uneventful, if not for Eddie. Specifically, his decision to ask Joe for Iris' hand in marriage at the party when she went to get a refill. Oh, and he did that in front of Barry.

Joe didn't look pleased to begin with, but Barry didn't stick around to hear the answer. In the end, neither did Caitlin. In that moment, she could have opted to stay out of his business and left him to brood alone.

She didn't do that, of course, because apparently she felt some kind of bizarre urge to comfort him even when it was against her better judgment.

She blamed the orgasms.

She knew he wouldn't be heading for the bar—it's not like they would have anything to drown his sorrows in—but she didn't know this particular hotel well. Barry could have easily used his powers to take off and leave everyone in the dust, but he didn't do that. She was able to follow behind him easily, almost like he knew she was there.

He ducked into a restroom and she came up short. She hadn't anticipated him hiding in the bathroom, which in retrospect was a pretty gaping error on her part. Still, she had resolved to check on him, and she wasn't going to let something as trivial as a bathroom get in her way, so she kept walking and shoved the door open before logic could get in her way.

It was one of those handicapped-accessible/family restrooms, with one big stall as the whole room. Blinking, she stopped short again in the doorway. She had made a tactical error on that one.

Barry _had_ known she was following behind him, because the moment she was in the room, the door was shut and locked. She didn't bother turning around to check—she heard the sound, and even if she wanted to, she couldn't, really, not with Barry suddenly standing inches from her.

Caitlin recognized that pain in his eyes all too well. She saw it every morning when she looked in the mirror. There might have been a different cause for his hurt, but it was there and she knew it to see.

"Hey," he murmured, tipping his head forward until they were inches away.

"Hi," she whispered back, studying his face as she fought the urge to squirm under his steady gaze.

"Are we still doing this thing?" he asked softly, and she could feel her fingers sink into the soft leather of her purse. He looked so solemn, so serious. "Are we—can we still—"

He broke off before he could finish the sentence, the thought, but the intention was there, hanging heavily in the air. It was the first time either of them had attempted to verbally acknowledge it, and she could feel the weight settling in her bones.

Barry had shed his jacket and rolled up his sleeves in the ten seconds it had taken her to walk in, and the look was certainly working for him. Or maybe it was just working for her.

Twice so far she had used him for sex, without thought to his feelings or any other consequences. That definitely made her a not good person, but Barry was the opposite. _Too_ good, really.

He deserved to do a little using for once.

She allowed him a tiny smile, just enough of a curve of lips and a flash of teeth and then he was already closing the distance.

Making out in a hotel bathroom _should_ have been disgusting, but it wasn't, not when he was cradling her jaw with both hands, kissing her so thoroughly that she could feel it down to her toes. Sometimes being used wasn't such a bad thing.

Her back bumped against the door, and she gasped when the cold metal hit her skin. Barry had already taken advantage of the opportunity presented, deepening the kiss until her gasp turned into a whimper.

Her hands were wrapped around his wrists, having already dropped her purse at some point. She felt a little like she could sink to the floor, but she wasn't so oblivious as to actually go through with it.

He broke away for a second, panting. "You look stunning, by the way."

She was flushed from their kissing, but at his earnest comment, she could feel herself blush for real. She let go of one wrist, reaching out to wind her fingers around his tie and yank him closer again. "You don't need to flirt with me, Barry," she replied lightly. "We've already had sex before."

Even though she was mostly joking with him, he frowned. "It's not flirting, it's the truth," he replied simply, his thumb brushing from the slope of her cheek down to the corner of her mouth. "You're stunning."

Caitlin could feel her blush deepen and her skin go prickly. She didn't need him to tell her that she was pretty—she knew she could be attractive when the occasion called for it—and she didn't need him coming in and sending her emotions into overdrive for no reason.

Barry's eyes narrowed, and there was a new determined glint in his eyes that hadn't been there before, quickly replacing the sadness. Caitlin couldn't tell if that boded very well or very bad for her.

He kissed her, with a little more force than she was used to from him. She probably shouldn't have been used to anything when it came to him, but then his teeth dragged along the edge of her lip and she figured she could always worry about that later. Much, much later.

As much as his strange burst of dominance had her head spinning and struggling to keep up, her hands did not suffer from such issues. She made quick work of both his vest and button-down—the little buttons on his shirt were tricky, but no match for her superior muscle memory—but before she could do much more than push the fabric open, Barry was batting her hands away.

"You're never willing to listen to me." He broke away long enough to scold her, no real anger in his voice but that same determination in his eyes.

Pressing her lips together, Caitlin stopped herself from arguing with him, but only barely.

"You don't listen to me, either," she shot back. Well, that lasted long.

Her almost involuntary response seemed to amuse him, if his dangerous smirk was any indication. He leaned in close enough that their noses touched, but he made no move to kiss her again. "This is about you tonight," he replied slowly, carefully enunciating each word. "Not me."

Barry hadn't even said anything particularly scandalous, but her body was reacting as if he did. She felt out of breath, her pulse was stuttering, and she could feel her heartbeat thudding erratically in her ears. What in the hell was he doing to her?

"What if I don't feel like listening?" she asked. Even pinned against a door and more turned on than she ever had a right to be, she still refused to back down from a challenge. So far, challenging Barry hadn't ended too poorly in her favor.

That appeared to be the exact right question to ask. He smirked, and she tried not to laugh along with him. She mostly failed.

"Too bad," he murmured, now close enough that their lips brushed together and sent nervous jolts up and down her spine. She jerked her chin forward, a tad too eager to kiss him back, but he dodged too quickly and she was left looking at nothing but air.

Her brain had trouble keeping up—he was too fast, too damned fast for her lust-addled thoughts—but she felt her—admittedly shorter than normal—skirt get pushed up. She only jerked a little as she glanced down, blinking at Barry, who was now on his knees in front of her.

So _that's_ where he went.

Because she was an idiot and a masochist by nature, the protest tumbled from her lips before she could think twice. "Barry, you don't need to—"

"Caitlin," he countered easily. She could already feel his fingers curling around the edges of her panties. Her stomach flipped. Thank god she'd decided against stockings tonight.

"You're not listening again."

Her protestations died on her lips, caught somewhere between embarrassment and selfishness. She was proud of her sexuality, for the most part—that said, she couldn't say a man had ever offered to do _this_, in what was basically a public bathroom, without needing to be asked.

It was a fairly unique situation, to say the least.

She could feel his fingers on her hips, which only reminded her of the pulse between her thighs, which was only growing more insistent as he continued staring up at her with that earnest determination in his eyes… Really, it was amazing she had held out this long.

His smile ticked up a little, eyes softening, like he already knew what she was thinking. "Okay?" he asked.

She was about ready to melt into the floor. Chewing on her bottom lip, she nodded once.

She couldn't watch him as he tugged her—lacy, extremely impractical—panties down her legs. Her whole body was shaking, trembling with the effort to stay standing and not just take a tumble in her silly stilettos. At any moment, she was afraid she'd do something truly embarrassing like moan his name for some reason.

She expected more reluctance, more preamble at first. But this was Barry, and for all his smarts, he was very much act-first-think-later with his decisions.

Not always a bad call, in retrospect.

The sudden sensation caught her off guard, and if not for her teeth digging into her bottom lip, her whimper would have been _much_ louder. It might have _been_ loud, actually, but she couldn't seriously be expected to pay such close attention to as unimportant things as volume.

He didn't seem startled by her reaction, or the way her body jerked in surprise as he pressed more insistently against a sensitive bundle of nerves. His left hand simply curled around her hip, anchoring her in place, while his other found her own hand, fingers lacing together reassuringly. They shared that unexpected comfort for a moment, and then his teeth scraped along her skin, lighting up her nerves, and she whimpered loudly.

Caitlin tried not to moan his name too much, but it wasn't easy when he seemed determined to drive her insane. He had no problem shifting her thigh, opening her up without shame to reach exactly the right angle she didn't know she needed. She had knocked her head back against the door at some point, and she didn't realize until the blurry grey and white shapes morphed into ceiling tiles.

His tongue came into play at some point, and he apparently knew just what to do to send her reeling. Not fair, really. Though she was pretty sure it wasn't fair for her to be crushing his hand in response, but he didn't slow down or stop so that's really all that was important.

It felt like her brain was running in too many different places at the same time. She had the random thought that Iris was insane to pick Eddie—Barry didn't even like her all that much, and yet he had her practically crawling out of her skin in a few minutes—hours?—just to prove a point.

Iris _definitely_ made a bad call on that one.

He was doing something—something that she was almost positive involved his powers again, powerful enough to scramble her senses but at a speed that was _just_ slow enough to leave her confused and panting.

She had whimpered his name, once, when he added a little more vibration. Once she did, of course, she couldn't stop—not surprising, she was the one that opened the door in the first place, and she wasn't making any attempts to close it—chanting his name over and over until it was the only word her mouth could form.

Her free hand had wound in his hair—not tight, no, that would be her grip on his hand—and he increased tempo once more. She was pretty sure he was encouraging her, moving her closer to her goal, but in fact it felt like he was trying to kill her. By orgasm.

At least it'd be a hell of a way to go out.

She wasn't sure how long he kept this up—probably not long, she was unbelievably close—but he managed to coax her into a slow, prolonged orgasm that stole her breath away along with what shreds of common sense she had left. It wasn't the most powerful one she'd ever experienced, but it was just strong enough to unwind the knots in her muscles and make her limbs go slack.

Caitlin kept her eyes shut until she was able to get her heartbeat down to a reasonable level—and she almost got there, when she felt Barry's hands on her thighs. Her eyes snapped open, and she watched dazedly as he pulled her panties back into place and rearranged her skirt accordingly. Yet again, it was another jarringly intimate moment that didn't sync up with the no-strings-attached nature of their relationship.

Maybe she should probably definitely talk to him about that. At some point.

Or maybe not.

Cupping the back of his neck, she met him halfway for a thorough, hot kiss that perfectly underlined her intentions. When her free hand went for his belt buckle, she was rebuffed yet again.

Breaking the kiss, she said, "You're setting kind of a strange precedent here, Barry." She eyed him skeptically as she tested his grip on her wrist. What kind of mixed messages was he sending?

His smile was that familiar one, lopsided and a little devious. She wondered if Iris ever saw this smile. If she did, it was definitely never in this context.

"I told you," he responded, releasing her wrist only to begin buttoning up his vest—wait, when did he fix his shirt? "This was _always_ about you."

As irrational as it was, that response raised her hackles once more. Could he _not_ be a selfless hero for one second? He was supposed to be using her for _sex_, dammit, not making her feel special.

"We should probably get back out there," he said, effectively cutting off her outrage before it could build any further

Without saying anything, she glanced below his belt and then back up at him, pointedly. There was only so much black could hide.

A flush spread across Barry's face, and now it was Caitlin's turn to feel a little smug. She was entirely responsible for his current state of affairs, and that was something no one else could claim in this moment.

"I'll go first," she offered, not bothering to hide her smile. She couldn't really expect to maintain a serious façade in this kind of situation.

When she returned to the group, no one seemed to notice their disappearance—or at least, no one seemed to notice hers. She did spot Detective West giving Barry a suspicious glance when he finally returned, but to her knowledge that was the most of it.

Surprising, really, because Barry's mood had improved dramatically, more or less disregarding any of his earlier annoyance. He avoided Eddie, but otherwise he was the most relaxed he'd been all night. And when he would catch her eye throughout the night, he'd shoot her _that smile_ and her stomach would go back in knots all over again.

It took her longer than she'd like to admit, but finally she got it. He _had_ used her. For his own confidence boost. All it had taken was one hell of an orgasm.

Maybe he wasn't such a hero after all.


	4. I've Got That Good-Girl Faith

Yay! I'm back to my previous production time!

Okay, we're winding down to the end, which means things will be getting emotional... and angsty. Because that's what I do.

On a more serious note, I just have to say _thank you_ to everyone reading and reviewing so far. Your reviews almost always make my day, and they've definitely reminded me why I love the fanfic community so much. You guys are some of the sweetest, most supportive people out there. And I love all the little analyses of Barry and Caitlin! They crack me up, and impress me, especially when you guys pick up on things that I thought might be too vague or confusing.

I've been trying not to let my writing be too influenced by the last few episodes (especially this most recent one), but when I saw the preview for the mid-season premiere I had to giggle because I'll have to see how it compares to what I have written up for this...

$4$

_You got that long hair, slicked back  
>White t-shirt<br>And I've got that good-girl faith  
>And a tight little skirt<br>And when we go crashing down, we come back every time_

**4.**

* * *

><p>The fourth time only happened because Caitlin needed to even the score.<p>

He had gotten into some argument with Wells about the treatment of the other metahumans and unfortunately she hadn't been there to mediate. Barry had stormed out and Wells had disappeared to who knows where and she was left in the lab with Cisco, who looked both befuddled and scared.

Obviously, that meant she was going to have to fix this nonsense.

Things had finally reached a point where they were almost borderline comfortable with one another, in spite of the sex. She still blushed a little whenever she thought about the hotel bathroom, but now she could meet his darkened eyes with minimal hesitation on her part.

Of course, sex with Barry—potential or otherwise—was very low on her list of priorities. She needed to get him past this little tiff so they could get back to work at the lab with as little fuss as possible. She refused to entertain a world in which Barry ran around in his super-suit without anyone there to keep an eye on him and his inevitable injuries.

Still, she was a mostly patient person, so she was more than willing to give him time to get past his anger and come back to the labs—hopefully—on his own.

She figured he would be over it by the end of the night, at most the next morning.

It took two days.

It might have taken longer, but by that point Caitlin's patience for his pouty bullshit had completely run out. She didn't need any more angst in her real life—she'd be handed plenty already. If she wanted a broody hero, she could just stay at home in her sweatpants and watch Buffy and Angel emote.

It took thirty-five minutes to find Barry, which was really just the exact time required to drive from S.T.A.R. Labs to his apartment at rush hour. She and Cisco both had copies of his key, and he had copies of theirs. It was decided as a safety precaution, but this was the first time she had actually taken advantage of the opportunity.

In the end, she didn't bother knocking. He was already the fastest man alive, she didn't need to give him even more of a heads-up.

It was one of those wide-open floor plans where the whole apartment was almost a single room. She vaguely remembered visiting once, prior to them ever hooking up. But at first glance, she couldn't find him anywhere. So she looked further.

That was because he was in his bedroom—or the solitary wall that hid his bed—and he wasn't wearing pants.

Or any clothing, if she was being technical about it.

For the record, she only looked away from his face for a second. Three, tops.

It's just—she had seen him shirtless before, and in his boxers a number of times, but never… naked. She wasn't uncomfortable with nudity—she's a scientist—but _holy shit how was this the first time she saw him completely naked?!_

Her thoughts were racing at about the same speed he ran, so maybe ten seconds went by when he spoke. "I'm not going back until Dr. Wells changes his mind," he told her.

Oh. Right. She was supposed to be mad at him, wasn't she?

"You can't avoid the labs," she responded, but it was quite possible her mouth was just running on autopilot at that point.

His jaw tightened. There was maybe fifteen feet between them, but she could see the exact muscle group flex in reaction. She could probably name them, too, if she wasn't so wrapped up in how _he was still naked_. "Cisco's worried about you," she replied lamely.

Caitlin kept waiting for him to realize his state of undress and cover himself up, like he had done so many times in the past. Except that wasn't happening. Barry didn't seem to care. And she shouldn't have found that as attractive as she did.

"Yeah?" he said, shifting from foot to foot, and she totally didn't look back down. Okay, but only for a second. "And what about you?"

She blinked. She hadn't expected him to ask about her—but then, she hadn't expected anything that was happening right now. Even still, she couldn't figure out what he meant. "You need to come back to the labs," she repeated. "In case you get hurt."

His eyes narrowed. "And what do you want, Caitlin?"

What did she want?

She wanted him to come back to the lab. She wanted him to stop being so comfortable with her. She wanted him to never put clothing on _again_.

She wanted to stop _wanting_ him so damned much.

She blinked.

"Fuck it."

She knew Barry hadn't been expecting that response, much less the way she dropped her coat, purse, and keys on the floor and crossed the room in three long strides. That was enough of a warning in her opinion to grab the back of his neck, and yank him forward to meet her for a hard kiss.

It only took him a second to catch up after that, hauling her forward by her hips. He kissed her back with no hesitation, like everything else so far, but she was expecting that and just pressed back harder, nipping his bottom lip and flicking the roof of his mouth with her tongue.

He already had her zipper undone and his fingers were dancing along the bumps and ridges of her spine. She could already feel her body growing warm and molten, just remembering all the things those lithe fingers had done to her in the past.

Caitlin had to remove her hands from his face when he pushed her dress down her shoulders. She hadn't bothered with cute underwear this morning—really, she didn't bother with cute underwear _any_ morning—but his body's reaction indicated that she didn't mind.

Her dressed pooled around her feet, but she was busy pushing at his shoulders. It only took a little cajoling, and a hand to his chest and he was finally sinking down to the hardwood floor.

She only tripped a little on her discarded dress as she followed him down, but that's what she got for not breaking the kiss. He laughed at her clumsiness between more kisses, but the happy noise caught in his throat when her nails grazed the muscles along his lower abdomen.

Barry tried to stay sitting up, but she planted her hand on the center of his chest and pushed until he was lying back. He drew in a sharp breath through his nose when his bare back touched the cool floor—or maybe that was because she had just thrown a knee over his waist and was now straddling him.

When they broke apart—for the first time, and _hell_ she was out of breath—it looked like he was going to say something, but she cut him off at the pass. "Shut up, Barry," she muttered, and then lowered her head for a kiss. Not on his mouth—his neck.

That got him to stay quiet.

With her view above him, she once more had to marvel at how lean he was built. He was muscular, but so different from Oliver Queen or any traditional depictions of "superheroes." All the defined muscles that stretched across his torso and limbs kept him from appearing scrawny, but only just.

Caitlin didn't mind his wiry muscles as much as she once thought she would—in fact, she was starting to see the appeal.

He groaned loudly when she dragged her teeth a little too sharply along his Adam's apple. She would've apologized, but she was busy cataloguing all the different muscles that made up his chest with her fingers. But it was probably fine, because his fingers had wound in her hair, holding her closer to his skin, so maybe he wasn't in _too_ much pain.

She could feel his hands against her scalp, attempting to coax her up to meet his face, but she was disinterested in that option. This was the first time she'd ever seen Barry completely naked before, and she wasn't going to squander the opportunity by letting him distract her again.

She flashed him a look—her very best _listen to me, Barry, or you'll regret it_—and then she very purposefully, very slowly, dragged the blunt ends of her nails down his abdomen.

He didn't put up a fight after that.

Men weren't particularly hard to figure out when it came to sex, but she was a scientist—not to mention a bit of a perfectionist—first and a woman second. That was probably way she was far more interested in learning what made him tick than following any presumed pattern.

Not to mention, he had already spent an inordinate amount of time memorizing the ways that made her toes curl, so she felt it kind of necessary to even the score.

His hands never stopped playing with the long strands of her hair, but the continuous shivers and tingles down her spine only served as a pleasant incentive to find all the places that made him do the same.

The left side of his ribcage was extremely ticklish, and he jerked and laughed deep in the back of his throat when her fingers danced over the spot. But when she followed that up with an open-mouthed kiss to his skin, his laugh caught in his throat with a half-gasp.

He didn't have much in the way of body hair, save for the narrow happy trail that started below his belly button and spread down. It sort of worked for him—he barely ever had stubble, so it would be odd to find he was hoary everywhere else. Even more fun, when she traced over her fingers along the coarse hairs, he gave a full-body shiver.

She was learning all _sorts_ of fun things from Barry today. Nipping the skin under his pectoral resulted in a low groan, while running her tongue between his abdominal muscles resulted in a hissed curse between clenched teeth. However, her favorite response might have been when her thumbs brushed along the neat V of muscle that ran along his hips, at which point he made a noise that very, _very_ close to a needy whimper.

She could easily spend the whole night learning all the different things that made him shiver and shake—but she wouldn't, because he would probably consider that cruel and unusual punishment. And this was about returning a favor, not leaving him hanging even worse than before. He'd had his fill of foreplay, she was sure.

Giving oral wasn't her favorite activity in the bedroom, but she wasn't selfish, either. She knew the basics, and she was more than willing to use that knowledge to his benefit.

Really, that was all the justification she needed to proceed.

But when her fingers wrapped around the length of him and she looked up, he was already staring at her with desperate, lust-blown eyes that made her body go all hot and soft in response—and she knew that justification was bullshit.

When it came down to it, it was about her control. She needed control, craved it really, but with Barry… he gave her his control willingly. No strings, no requirements, no hesitation—just unwavering, unyielding trust.

It was a heady thing.

She didn't break eye contact with him as she tilted her head down, and that alone nearly undid her. His fingers tugged on her hair a little, almost like he was trying to hold her back. It didn't matter, because she ignored the gentle nudge in favor of closing her mouth around him instead.

He groaned her name, and if her mouth hadn't been preoccupied she might have asked if that was intended as a curse or a prayer. Instead, she stroked her thumb across his hipbone and relaxed her throat.

_That_ time it was definitely groaned as a curse.

One of his hands unwound in her hair, only to immediately grab hold of her hand, lacing their fingers together over his lower abdomen. The parallel to their experience in the hotel room wasn't lost on her, and just the memory had her thighs clenching pleasantly.

She bobbed her head, concentrating her tongue on the underside, and she was rewarded with a loud moan.

Periodically, he would adjust his grip on her hair—not to direct her, but rather to scoop up more hair from falling in her face. He wanted to watch—watch her, watch everything she did to him.

_This_ was exactly the kind of control she was looking for.

The more she maintained eye contact, the more it seemed to drive him crazy. He groaned her name every time she tilted her head up and hissed his breath on the way down. His whole body was wound tight, and she could see the tendons along his throat straining as he grappled with his oncoming orgasm.

She swirled her tongue and added just a little more pressure at the base, and he cursed. Very loudly. And she couldn't help it—she chuckled, her mouth preoccupied but the vibration carrying quite nicely.

He whimpered her name this time, and her own body shuddered happily.

She watched as he tipped his head back, head smacking against the floor with a dull _thud_, but he didn't seem to notice the pain. He was murmuring again, too, her name, over and over and _over_ and he sounded so delightfully desperate that she almost _had_ to put him out of his truly entertaining misery.

Her thumb stroked across the back of his hand as reassuringly as she could muster before she swirled her tongue along the top and slipped her free hand under his sac and _pressed_.

Her name turned into a litany of curses and pleas and then he looked up to meet her eyes desperately as he groaned, "Cait, I'm gonna—"

But she was already more than prepared for that.

Standing up afterwards proved to be more than a little precarious, as her legs were wobblier than she had expected. As delicately as possible, she wiped the corner of her mouth and pointedly tried to ignore the steady throbbing between her legs.

At least standing up gave her an even better view of Barry than before. He was actually sweating—and panting!—and she made a note in her head that not _all_ physical activity garnered the same physical response. Very interesting.

He was still recovering as she slipped her dress back on and zipped it. Her panties were still slick and uncomfortably damp, but that was a problem to address when she got back home. It was about time her vibrator got some quality use.

It took her another few seconds to collect her belongings, and by that point he'd managed to prop himself up on his elbows. She only looked at his abs for a few seconds, really.

"Where are you going?" he asked, out of breath. He looked a little like a sad puppy, if that puppy was an attractive, muscular 20-something who was still very, very naked. His short hair was even messier than usual, and there was a healthy flush on his cheeks, and she had to bite her lip, because _Jesus_, she wanted to fuck him into the floor.

…Y'know, if he wasn't already on the floor.

"I have to get home," she replied finally, running a hand through her hair quickly in a poor attempt to tame the damage he'd already done.

His mouth fell open, but she wasn't sure if it was from confusion or exhaustion. "Are you sure?" he asked, brow furrowing. He glanced down at the hem of her skirt skeptically and added, "Because I can help…"

Oh, she very much wanted to take him up on that offer. But that wasn't part of her original plan, and she did still need to go home and make dinner… "I'm fine," she replied. "Thanks. But I have to go."

He looked concerned—and maybe a little disappointed?—as she leaned down quickly and brushed a kiss across his lips. When they broke apart, she felt just as out of breath as he was when he added, "You're definitely sure?"

Not at all. She was sure she wanted to crawl into his lap and fuck him until they were both senseless, but this was not about her. No matter what.

Straightening up, she flashed him her best professional smile. "I'll see you at work tomorrow, Barry."

Before she could even reach his door, she could hear him groan desperately in reaction.

Oh yeah. She was good.


	5. You Come & Pick Me Up, No Headlights

This took a little longer than usual, but I'm just going to blame that on sickness. And the holidays. And also a little laziness.

So, this is the eagerly awaited angst-fest! For those of you that have been reading me for years, I'm pretty sure you know where this is heading... For those of you that don't, well... I hope you enjoy it. It's a little cliffhanger-y, and while I do apologize (because I rarely do cliffhangers, because I'm so bad at waiting for them myself) it _needed_ to end there. Just trust me.

This has actually been a ton of fun to write, and I've been loving everyone's responses so much I think I might be looking to fulfill another long-loved trope once I'm finished with this... but only once I'm finished!

I don't want to get ahead of myself. ;)

$4$

_Midnight  
>You come &amp; pick me up<br>No headlights  
>Could end in burning flames or paradise<em>

* * *

><p><strong>5.<strong>

In the end, it was her fault. It had been her fault from the beginning, so it seemed only fitting that she be responsible for the end.

Her limbs ached and there was a kind of weariness that had settled deep in her bones. She couldn't recall every feeling this tired in her life—save for the week after Ronnie's death. But that was emotional weariness, brought on by her own depression. This was a physical, the kind of tired that only occurred after hours of exertion and stress.

Which was exactly what happened to her.

Some new metahuman had got it into his head that the Flash was his arch-nemesis, so he went about attempting to kill him in the most ineffective ways possible. Namely, with mirrors.

_Mirrors._

When _that_ braintrust of an idea didn't pan out, he resorted to old-fashioned stalking until he spotted her talking to Barry while he was in costume. Which led to him kidnapping her and locking her in a room. Full of mirrors.

Honestly.

She was extremely grateful his powers were only half-formed, because all the normal reflections had given her a hell of a migraine to start with. She could only imagine what annoyance he could wreak once he could control the beams of light.

It had actually been embarrassingly easy to catch him. Technically, she was the one that had done it—right as Barry crashed through the building, she slammed the largest pane of glass against crazy stalker man's head.

Dr. Wells and Cisco insisted on looking her over, which was wholly unnecessary, really. Granted, she had a few bumps and bruises and maybe there was a nasty scrape over her temple, but it was nothing that couldn't be fixed with her own med kit at home and a big glass of merlot.

Of course, they disagreed with her rather impeccable logic. A different day, she might have fought with them more, but the entire time they worked Barry stood behind them, arms crossed and expression serious. Even at her pissiest, something told her not to push his buttons right there.

After an hour of padding and prodding, Dr. Wells and Cisco finally left. Which left her with Barry, alone. For the first time all night.

He had been silent ever since she got back, but she had done her best to ignore him up until now. She couldn't do that anymore, because there was nowhere to look other than down at the replacement for her wrecked blouse, a S.T.A.R. Labs sweatshirt—where did they keep finding more of them?—or at him.

"I should head home," she whispered, finally giving in and looking up. She couldn't read his expression, not quite, but he didn't look happy.

"Okay."

She turned to pick up her belongings, but she needn't have bothered, because before she could get halfway, there was a _whoosh_ and then she was inside her apartment.

Dammit. She wished she could get used to that already.

Barry was still standing behind her when she turned around, with that unreadable expression on his face. She expected him to zoom away, but he stayed there, watching her.

She didn't know what to say. She wondered if she should be comforting him then, but that just didn't seem right when he didn't appear sad.

"You could've died," he said quietly.

"No, I couldn't," she argued immediately, a knee-jerk reaction to his comment like always.

He didn't seem pleased to hear her signature contrariness. If anything, he looked more annoyed, his brow furrowing, which only served to deepen the shadows that fell across his face.

Neither one of them had bothered turning on a light in her apartment. She didn't need to bother, as she had the layout long since memorized and she didn't particularly enjoy dwelling on the emptiness of her apartment.

"No, Caitlin," he replied, his voice hard. He didn't even seem to notice the relative darkness of the apartment. "You could've _died_."

In that moment, she knew this was one of those arguments that she was never going to win. She still tried anyway, because no one could ever accuse her of giving up easily. "You almost die all the time," she countered, pursing her lips stubbornly.

He let out a growl in the back of his throat and stepped towards her. She just managed to stop herself from jumping back in surprise. She hadn't anticipated that kind of visceral reaction.

"That's _different_."

Caitlin let out a huff that was part laugh, part shout. "Yeah, the difference is that it's usually _you_."

He took a step forward again, so close that their chests brushed. "Exactly," he stressed, eyes dark and intense. "That's how it's supposed to be."

She opened her mouth—because, really, what kind of ass backwards logic was that?—but then his hands were cupping her jaw, cradling it really, and he had bent down to rest his forehead against hers. "You could've died," he repeated. "I could've _lost you_."

Oh.

She definitely did not know what to say to that. But yet again, before she could form her next words, Barry was interrupting her, his mouth covering hers and deepening the kiss in the span of a heartbeat.

The kiss was bruising, but his hands on her face were gentle, coaxing her to respond seconds before he stole her breath away when his tongue flicked against the roof of her mouth.

His kisses were familiar, but very different. Strange as it seemed, she was used to his lips on hers, comfortable with the mix of pressure and slickness, primed with her body's immediate reaction to his stimuli.

She didn't notice them moving, but then her back was thumping against the living room wall and apparently they had crossed the length of the apartment.

He certainly had his talents.

Barry broke the kiss, and the darkness in his eyes made her inhale sharply. She had seen him upset before, and angry, and even jealous—but she had never seen him look like this. Lost. Afraid. Hurt.

And looking only at her while he did.

"Barry—" she began, but stopped. She still couldn't find the words she needed—she should have been comforting him, but instead, she was standing there, silent and uncertain.

He shook his head, once, and then he was resting his forehead against hers again. His hands had slid down her face to her arms. He was rubbing soothing circles into her skin, from her elbows up to her shoulders and back down again. It took her a moment to realize that he was only doing this because she was shivering. Violently.

Maybe she wasn't as fine as she'd thought.

She didn't know what to do, or say, but she did know that she needed him near her more than she ever had before. Rather than voice that recognition, she tipped her chin forward and kissed him.

Caitlin knew she was using him again, but this time seemed different than before, because it felt like Barry was taking as much as he was offering.

He hadn't stopped touching her—in fact, he seemed to be on a one-man mission to her body back to a normal temperature again and stop the shivering. She appreciated that effort, because when they broke apart so he could bury his face in the crook of her neck, he teeth immediately began to chatter.

But it was mostly okay, because by that point he had slipped his hands under the heavy material of her sweatshirt. When Barry's hands enveloped her waist, was nothing but skin-to-skin contact, and it felt heavenly.

The palms of his hands were very nearly hot against her skin, and she released a shaky little whimper of pleasure at the almost overwhelming sensation. She wanted—needed—to wrap herself around Barry like a climbing vine, absorbing every joule of heat he gave her.

Almost as if he had heard her plan, Barry removed his hands from her waist, only to bend at the knees, cup the backs of her thighs, and heft her into the air. All in the span of a second.

She hadn't been expecting the rather smooth move—if it hadn't been so quick, she might have yelped—but then he was wedging her between himself and the wall and his hands were under her sweatshirt again and she was practically _melting_, his heat felt so good.

He was still kissing her throat, alternating sides while his fingers traced the dips and slopes of her ribcage. His kisses were light and gentle, almost brushes of skin against skin, and then he would nip her collarbone or swipe his tongue against the space where her jaw met her ear. Whenever he did this, she would whimper his name and clutch at his shoulders tighter.

Her legs had wrapped around his waist, the bare skin of her thighs rubbing against his jeans as her skirt hiked up higher. She could feel him pressing more and more insistently against her, and when she tightened her legs around his hips instinctively, he groaned. She couldn't help it though, because his body was so much warmer and she _needed_ his heat. The fact that he seemed to enjoy it as much as her was just a happy coincidence.

He pulled his mouth away from her neck, and the whimper of frustration fell from her mouth unbidden. He rested his forehead against her own, but it was hard for her to focus when she could feel his fingers brushing against the underside of her breasts. With every pass of his fingertips, her skin tingled and tightened in anticipation.

"Caitlin," he whispered, thumb dragging up along the slope of her skin. She was trying to listen to him, she was, but his hands were distracting and—

"Caitlin, I need you," he murmured, his brow furrowing over his dark eyes. Her breath—which before had been panting—caught in her throat as the words settled in her bones. He was staring at her again, lost and desperate and—"I _care_ about you," he hesitated for a second, but powered on. "I l—"

She didn't let him finish. She couldn't, really. She couldn't risk letting him finish that sentence, and opening them up for too much risk. It was—it was dangerous to let him admit that.

Or so she told herself.

It had been too easy to shut him up with another kiss, because he was just as addicted to their connection as she was. It probably wasn't fair of her, but her brain kicked in before her emotions could think twice.

She was quite firmly wedged against him, and with her legs wound around his waist the way they were, she didn't have to worry about staying upright as she wound both hands into his hair. There was nowhere for him to go, and—more importantly—nothing for him to say.

But kissing him didn't make him feel any better, because she could still feel his unspoken words floating in the air, taunting her. Her chest felt a little like it was cracking open all over against, only this time she felt raw and exposed instead of frozen and hollow.

She wasn't sure which sensation she hated more.

She was grateful Barry didn't fight her on her blatant distraction technique, because she still wouldn't have any words to defend herself. Instead of doing that, though, his hands slid the rest of the way and cupped her breasts.

The sudden contact tore a gasp out of her throat, but his mouth swallowed the sound. She hadn't been prepared for the feeling, and briefly wondered how he was still managing to shock her at this point.

They were doing this so backwards, she thought, as he expertly manipulated her body, using just the right amount of pressure and resistance that she needed.

He broke the kiss, and she was afraid he was going to start talking again—but instead of saying anything about feelings, he pushed her sweatshirt up and ducked his head.

The man was good with his mouth, and while she knew that already, she still couldn't stop herself from moaning his name as his lips dragged against her overly sensitive skin.

He had to heft her up a little higher so he didn't hand to bend down as much, but there was no point in pretending as though that didn't just make her hotter. She was past lying to herself about that, so she buried her fingers in his thick hair and clutched his head to her chest.

Caitlin whimpered words of breathless encouragement as his teeth and tongue elicited tiny shocks and shivers down her spine. His hands pushed her skirt up even further, until it was fully ringed around her waist and he had full access to her plain black panties.

It wasn't easy for her to move much with his big head in the way, and his hand already had her underwear pushed to the side and was working studiously to build up her already aching slickness. Her body was well past primed, and she didn't need him going and distracting her _again_.

She nearly lost her focus when he slid a finger inside her and _crooked_, but she wasn't falling or that trick again and grabbed a handful of his hair tighter and tugged him _up_.

She didn't miss his unrestrained moan at her borderline manhandling, and filed that little fact away for a later time. "Barry," she said, her tone a command. "Put a condom on. Now."

This time, he didn't bother distracting her.

She was grateful for his powers, and even more so for just him, particularly when he wrapped a hand around her thigh, opened her up further, and pressed inside, all within moments of taking off his pants and putting on the condom.

"_Barry_," her breath caught on a gasp, and his name came out as broken, high-pitched syllables. How was it possible that she could miss this with him so much?

A knowing grin spread across his face, but it seemed far more taunting when he didn't start to move and instead kept her pinned against the wall with his hips.

Caitlin's brow furrowed in confusion when he didn't immediately start to move. What was with this man and wanting to torture himself—and her, by extension? She just wanted him to fuck her into the wall.

Literally.

"Goddammit, Barry," she growled, head banging ineffectually against the wall in frustration. As a last-ditch attempt, she inhaled shakily and _clenched_ her inner muscles.

His smile slipped to more of a grimace, but otherwise he didn't move. She could've cried, really, because from his angle she couldn't get any of the stimulation she needed without his assistance.

Digging her nails into his t-shirt clad shoulders, she levelled him the best glare she could manage while panting. "I would've been better off with my vibrator."

Watching his eyes darken with barely restrained _want_ was satisfying to a degree, but not nearly enough for her tastes. Rolling her eyes, she released one of his shoulders and slipped her hand down, between their bodies—

Or she would've, had he not caught her hand and pinned it against the wall by her head.

She narrowed her eyes at the borderline display of aggression—why, yes, she was capable of hypocrisy—but him moving closer caused their bodies to shift and she honestly didn't care at this point.

Very, very capable of hypocrisy.

"This isn't just sex to me," Barry said, and her chest seized with unexpected terror, even as her body rejoiced in his closeness. "Tell me that this is just sex for you."

She opened her mouth again, but like before, she couldn't get the words out. She wanted to say yes, but she also wanted to say no, and her added lust wasn't making things easier. She didn't know what she wanted.

Barry snapped his hips at a pace that was this side of punishing, and the noise that escaped her throat was akin to a half-cry. "Tell me," he growled, never breaking eye contact, and then he did it again.

She was caught somewhere between flinching away and pulling closer, but every time she was about to make up her mind, he would snap his hips again and her thoughts would dissolve. She wasn't used to this kind of brutal, determined pace, and yet it seemed to be exactly when her body needed, as it climbed steadily towards a release faster than she could ever imagine possible. She had wanted him to fuck her into the wall, and he was making due on that desire.

His hand, which still had her own pinned to the wall, flexed, lacing their fingers together. The muscles in her arm tensed, instinctively wanting to shy away from the obvious display of affection, but then his free hand was slipping between their bodies and unerringly finding her clit. Her voice hitched on a little whine, brow furrowing once more as her body tried desperately to process all the stimuli.

Barry dropped his forehead against hers again, his nose bumping against her own as he continued his rigorous pace. She wanted him to kiss her, but she didn't dare make a movement to do so. She wanted so much but didn't dare take anything.

Barry wasn't like that.

"I _care_ about you, Caitlin," he said, clearly. His face was too close for her to ignore, she couldn't look away. She might have closed her eyes, but it was too late for that now, because she was already firmly under his spell.

The pleasure was getting to her, it was too much but not enough, and yet he still continued on, undeterred. With every thrust, all the breath left her lungs in a pant, but Barry barely seemed winded. Maybe he was just too damned determined to be winded.

"Shutting me up with sex isn't going to make me not care about you," he continued, and she could feel the heat of his words wash across her skin temptingly. "You can't avoid me this time."

Her legs clutched his desperately, and her toes were numb again, but this time the tingles weren't from the _cold_ and _Jesus_, they were going to need to try this again because—

"_Tell me_."

Caitlin's orgasm caught her so hard and so fast she didn't have the chance to prepare, but the tipping point had nothing to do with his hips and everything to do with his eyes—namely, the stubbornness and determination and, oh god, _love_—

"It doesn't."

His own orgasm came chasing right after her own, but it was too late, because the words were already out of her mouth and she couldn't pull them back. Even as her breath began to regulate and she could feel her pulse slow, she knew it was too late. She had ruined everything.

Barry was never going to forgive her, and she was never going to forgive herself.

* * *

><p><strong>Edit:<strong>

Okay, so some of you razor sharp folks have pointed out to me that Caitlin's response doesn't quite make sense... that would be because it was a typo.

_However_, upon rereading what I wrote, and thinking about how it applies to +1, I decided that I'm keeping it. ...Because... reasons.

Just trust me, that despite the typo, everything has a plan! In fact, it has even _more_ of a plan than it did 24 hours ago. In fact, I already have a quarter finished, and my goal is to have the rest done by New Year's.

So, thank you for that, everyone!


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